PROM
by theevilestgeekofall
Summary: Prom. Santana. Karofsky.


A slow song came on: suddenly, Santana felt very alone.

EVERYONE headed out to the dance floor, as she walked her way off of it.

She was pissed off. Why? Well, the love of her life (fuck no, not anymore, that bitch) is dancing with some cripple. He's just sitting there and she's hugging him and dancing around him like he's the fucking fire to her tribal dance.

Santana took a swig from her punch she had spiked herself. It was ridiculously easy to sneak in some hooch up in this joint.

The lights cast a blue shadow on a sea of empty seats. Everything smelled like sweat. Almost as bad as Hudson's feet when he takes his shoes off.

Suddenly she saw another someone looking as lonely as she felt.

Karofsky. He had this blank look about him. And yet, in the light, she realized that his jaw was quite prominent. In some indirect, unfeeling way, she thought, Damn, The Kid's Kind of Hot.

She headed over towards him, because there was no way in HELL she'd sit by herself, watching everybody else make Gaga eyes at each other.

"Hey, for someone voted to Prom Court, you sure look SAD." She casually said, a steely edge to her voice.

"Back at you, babe." Karofsky bit out icily. "What do you want?" Santana smiled, having successfully pulled him out of that zonked-out expression. It didn't matter that he didn't really want to talk to her. She just wanted to get laid tonight. And hell, he was the only other single football player around…

Now sitting beside him, she lazily took a finger and traced his bicep, feeling it tighten underneath her. This was too easy. "I think you know what I want," she throatily breathed. Too, too easy.

Karofsky shook her off.

She put her lips just next to his ear and whispered, "Don't make me beg…"

Karofsky pushed her off more forcefully, muttering out, "You're drunk. I don't want to fucking deal with this."

"I thought you liked them drunk and helpless," Santana jeered at him. Those damn football players liked 'em like that, right? _How else would pudgy Karofsky get a chick?_ She sneered internally.

Karofsky suddenly straightened and looked at her strangely—there was a twinkle of…fear in his eyes.

"WHAT," she spit out, "So I want to get laid on prom night. Is that so bad? C'mon, you gotta still have your V-Card, Karofsky. I can read it in your little frown. I don't care about emotions. I don't want ANYTHING from your fat ass. I just want to fuck, okay?"

The guy seemed to slump down a little more, as though relieved of something. But then he just shook his head. "I don't want to fuck. You're wasted off your ass. Besides, I've bagged plenty of chicks, okay? And I don't think I'd want to waste my time with some Glee club chick with no status."

She started to laugh. "No, you haven't. I can see it in your eyes. You're…a sexually frustrated young man. Believe me, 'cause I've been on the top of the food chain here and I've seen it all. You've bagged chicks? I've bagged the entire football team…except you."

Karofsky just scoffed, angry but unsure what to say.

"So maybe I want to make it the whole team," Santana abruptly laughed bitterly, loudly, and her eyes flitted towards the dance floor, where they locked on…on HER and fucking ARTIE…

Silence. She still sat there but didn't talk. Too fucking angry.

But Brittany looked so pretty in that light…Santana wanted to hear her say "sweet lady kisses" and feel her warm neck under her lips…

Ughck. Seriously, what the FUCK was she doing still thinking about that bitch?

And the slow song was over, but Santana just sat there, despondent, watching everybody gradually move from romantic swaying to frantic dry-humping.

It all felt so silly. And STUPID. Yeah, she was pissed. Especially due to the fact that she looked damn fine in her dress, okay? And to have it wasted on these stupid feelings, this restlessness, this love hanging onto her like that afro kid who gets 'dirt' from everybody. That dude's so annoying. What's worse is that that rat boy wonder thinks he's the shit. God knows why. Disgusting.

She found herself looking at Dave, and noticing the fact he was clenching and un-clenching his fists repeatedly. (Was it a slow song again? Really? Damn she must've gotten lost in her thoughts…that is so funked up). She followed his eyes, to realize he was longing for somebody else, too.

Couldn't quite tell who he was looking at…was it that one Amy chick from cheerleading? She was hot but he'd never have a chance with her…

It couldn't be Erica. Dave just wouldn't dig a girl like that. Hell, nobody would….not even Santana herself and she has fairly low standards…

WAIT. WAIT A SECOND. Her eyes locked on Kurt and Blaine dancing off on the side. Despite all the shit they got for being McKinley's first gay couple at prom, people were generally ignoring the two of them now. They looked cute, all smiley (made Santana feel SICK) and—

Everything was and wasn't making sense and she felt cool, calm and clear with the realization that Dave was looking at Kurt.

He was the one to make fun of Kurt the most. He fucking brought up Kurt all the time, even though he insulted him simultaneously.

And ever since Kurt came back to McKinley, he'd been silent and had not harassed the students whatsoever…not even a fairy joke here or there.

HE IS GAY OH MY GOD HE IS GAY

Santana desperately wanted to spread this around, but nobody near them had gone back to their seats, and her mood was still too shitty to get up and do much of anything. Not yet. But OH MY

GOD OH MY GOD ! THIS IS JUICY….take a breath, Santana—

"K—Dave." Santana started, all of a sudden calm, forgetting the previous fuck-me-I-wanna-get-laid thing just a few minutes before. "Dave, have you ever actually had a girlfriend?"

It took awhile for him to come back to reality. He had this angry look in his eyes…but more than that, his eyes were sad and wistful…and he looked at her and started mumbling some shit about football and that's when she KNEW

"Okay, look. We're basically alone right now. There's loud music, nobody can hear us. I have a theory, and I don't want to hear you babble about football, or The fucking Guys, or all the chicks you supposedly bagged in the mystical land of NOWHERE. So we haven't talked. So I don't care. So you're either going to tell me the truth, or I'm going to assume. And believe me, I'm a real BITCH when I assume." She chugged down the rest of her spiked punch, thrilled at the prospect of getting him to admit his secret fairy life…

"Dave, are you gay for Kurt Hummell?" She said, nodding her head sideways towards the cheesiness that was Blaine and Kurt.

Karofsky laughed, a deep, dark laugh, as if trying to stall time.

Silence.

The laughter shriveled down to a nervous chuckle.

Karofsky's fists were clenched.

"Seriously?" He looked honestly offended. Not angry, though….

"Why would I have the hots for Hummell?—

Blaine's way hotter than him."


End file.
